I Welcomed My Elderly Mother Into My Home – Now I Regret It, I Can’t Send Her Away and I’m Ashamed in Front of My Friends.

I took my elderly mother into my home. Now I regret that decision; I cant send her away and I feel ashamed in front of my acquaintances.
Today I feel compelled to put my heavy, personal story on paper, a story that presses on my chest like a stone. I need a wise, thoughtful piece of advice to understand how to get out of the quagmire I have sunk into myself.
Each of us carries our own worries and trials. We must learn not to judge others but to reach out when someone is drowning in despair with no apparent way out. No one is immunetoday you may judge, and tomorrow you could find yourself caught in fates trap.
I brought my mother to live with me. She is already eighty, previously residing in a village near Rouen in an old, steeproofed house. She could no longer manage on her ownher health was failing, her legs gave way, her hands trembled. I saw her fading away alone there, so I decided to bring her into my city apartment. I hadnt realized the burden I would assume nor the impact it would have on my life.
At first everything ran smoothly. Mom moved into my threeroom flat in Lyon, and she seemed to respect the routine. She stayed out of my affairs, kept to herselfmostly in the bedroom I had lovingly set up for her. I provided every comfort: a soft bed, a warm throw, a small TV on the nightstand. She left the apartment only for the bathroom, the toilet, or the kitchenI strived to surround her with ease. I carefully watched her diet, preparing only what doctors recommended: no fats, minimal salt, everything steamed. The medicinesexpensive but essentialwere purchased with my salary. Her pension? Meager, barely enough.
After a few months the situation deteriorated. Urban life began to wear on hermonotonous, gray, like the concrete walls surrounding us. She started imposing her own rules, picking fights over trivial matters, turning minor issues into mountains. Sometimes it was dust I hadnt cleared in time, other times a soup that wasnt perfect, or forgetting to buy her favorite tea. Nothing pleased her; everything irritated her. Then the manipulations beganshe played on pity, sighed theatrically, constantly claimed she would be better off in the village than in my prison. Her words cut me like knives, yet I swallowed them, clenched my teeth, and tried not to react to the provocations.
My patience snapped. I was exhausted by her endless complaints, her shouting, her perpetual dissatisfaction. I started taking antianxiety pills, and after work I found myself standing at the doorway, unable to step inside. Behind that door there was no cozy haven, but a battlefield where I lost a little more each day. My life had turned into a hopeless nightmare.
Sending Mom back to the village isnt a solution. She wouldnt survive therethe house is halfruined, without heat or comfort. And how could I abandon her to that fate? What would people think? I already hear the disapproving glances, the whispers behind my back: A daughter who leaves her mother What a shame! I am ashamed even to entertain the thought, ashamed before others and before myself. But I cant go on.
The situation feels like a tightly twisted knot I cannot untie. I am drained, empty, lost. How can I keep living under the same roof? How do I handle her stubbornness, the wall of accusations and grievances? How can I soothe her without losing myself? I am stuck, and each day I sink deeper into despair.
Has anyone experienced something similar? How did you coexist with older relatives whose temperament is as harsh as sharp stones that test our patience? How do you stay sane when a loved one becomes your toughest trial? Please share your adviceI need a glimmer at the end of this dark tunnel.